The Pale Orc
by ChthonicUnraveling
Summary: Unbeknownst to the rest of Arda, Azog the Defiler took over the Shire with his Orc armies during the devastating Fell Winter. Bilbo Baggins had done her best to help her people, but now her only chance is to join the Company of Thorin Oakenshield and take back Erebor from the dragon Smaug. What could possibly go wrong?


Kay, so this is just an update. I meant to put an A/N up the first time I posted this, but I didn't have time. Anyway, this was just sitting finished on my laptop so I decided to post since I thought it turned out really well. It _is_ open to continuation, I just need to write the second chapter (if I want to). If you have any questions, comments, ideas or requests, you know how to hit that Review button :) For those of you who might be following Time Out of Mind, I'm sorry I haven't posted in so freakishly long, but I _will_ be re-hauling the first 9 chapters soon so that I can finally get on with Chapter 10. Live long and prosper :D

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As Balin told the story of Thorin's history with the Pale Orc Bilbo listened on in silence, a fierce scowl slowly furrowing on her face at the memories flitting through her own mind. She knew the sound of an Orc cry, and knew it well; she had only pretended innocence for the sake of keeping her secrets just that - secret. Then they had been chased through the wilds and into Elf country by the scouting party. Once more Bilbo found herself being filled with a rage and hatred that would surprise her colleagues. Imladris was a nice reprieve though the dwarrow tread carefully around her. They had seen the intense emotions on her face during their desperate dash for freedom and didn't quite know what to make of it.

Bilbo found that she hated Goblins almost as much as she hated Orcs, and Gollum found a place just below the Goblins. During her entire time running from the foul beasts out of the mountain the familiar burn of hatred simmered in her gut, and then she was out and with the others - and then the Orcs came.

The Hobbit ran swiftly on her shorter legs, easily keeping stride with the others, eyes hard and determined, brown hair slipping from its leather ties. She leapt into the trees, arms outstretched for balance as she ran along the branches to the one at the edge of the cliff; she wasn't going to wait to become Warg chow. Bilbo threw the burning pine cones with a fierce pleasure.

As the tree finally fell Bilbo was forced to take her concentration from the enemies below her in order to stay standing on the trunk. When she turned her eyes back to their attackers it was to find a very unwelcome sight before her: Azog the Defiler.

Thorin stood, a look of disbelief coloring his features, and he started forward to face his mortal enemy who looked only too pleased at the prospect of facing him. But Bilbo had other ideas. She dashed forward past the exiled king, Elven blade drawn and held loosely with a skill the dwarrow had not know she possessed.

"You," she snarled.

Azog looked down at her and smirked. "Look who it is," he chortled to his men. "My wayward slave. It's you I've come to collect, girl," he sneered.

Anger blazed hot in her chest. "You will not take me back," she spat in reply. "I am going to kill the dragon, and then I will come for you."

He raised and eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

A manic grin sullied her features, the dancing light of the flames causing her teeth to appear sharp and her wild hair, loose now down her back, to dance wildly. "If it's the last thing I ever do."

With shout she launched herself forward - to the surprise of the Company frozen with shock - directly at the fallen beast and his mount. Azog merely laughed and swung his cub arm, but she twisted in mid-air to avoid it and landed once more on her feet.

"Why don't you face me on your feet," she taunted. "Don't tell me you need your Warg to fight against a simple Hobbit!"

The Pale Orc snarled but dismounted and dropped into a ready stance. "Then come at me, beastling."

Simultaneously they drove at each other, and the dwarrow nearly lost track of their burglar in the swirling sea of limbs and weapons. The ringing of steel echoed in their ears, but the two opponents struck too quickly for them to follow, harsh taunts in Black Speech and Common accompanying the clamor.

Bilbo fought as she had been taught, blade only a flash in the light. She sliced his chest once and he howled, but then his mace caught her opposite hand and she screamed in rage and pain. Red haze clouded her vision, and in her moment of unfocused fury he struck again and sent her sprawling backwards to the ground.

"You are no match for me, halfling," he growled triumphantly, "and you will never be free."

She rose up on her arm, good hand wiping away the blood trickling from her mouth, blue eyes blazing furiously. "Only in your dreams, Elf-filth," she spat back, this time in his own language. Bilbo stumbled to her feet, body one massive ache, sword clenched in her good fist. The edges of her vision were beginning to fade out, and there was a distinct trembling starting to weaken her already exhausted legs - but she would not fall. Not today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Not ever. For all those she had left behind to save, Bilbo had to fight or die trying. So she charged.

The brave little Halfling fought bravely, but she had been fighting this monster for as long as she'd been alive, and in a moment between breaths suspended amidst blows, she was suddenly so tired, tired of the life she had no choice in, tired of the anger, and the hate, and the pain, and the loss. The Hobbits had all lost so much, yet their agony had been hidden from the world. If Bilbo couldn't defeat Smaug, couldn't pay off the debt, then her people would forever live in fear. The weight of her burden came crashing down on her shoulders all at one and Azog batted her aside like a rag doll.

Bilbo flew through the air as if in slow motion, the flames and wind whipping her hair and clothes, the blade falling from limp fingers. Her eyesight was blurry, and her thoughts were thick. She collided with a tree, her spine hitting first and the back of her head cracking against the rough bark milliseconds later. With a thud she fell to the ground, letting her broken body slump precariously. A large, scarred hand gripped the front of her shirt and hauled her up until she was face to face with the Defiler himself.

He studied her intently before grinning smugly. "You do not have any fight left," he gloated. "I can see it in your eyes, how you recognize the hopelessness of it all."

She closed her eyes in shame, sweat trickling down her face and back to drip from the tips of her fingers. Her head fell back, a silent plea buried in the baring of her throat. What was the point? She did not have the strength to save her people.

Azog laughed, his fetid breath wafting over her like the stench of death. The vibrations traveled through his arm to shake her limp frame. "You will not get away from me that easily, little Baggins. Death will not save you from me."

The last of her hope suddenly left her, and Bilbo's broken spirit dangled just as listlessly within her as she did from the Defiler's fist. Tears streaked down her cheeks. She opened her eyes as Azog laughed evilly, his harsh voice ringing triumphant through the roar of the fire - and then the world jerked and she was on the ground once more.

Through the daze Bilbo dimly realized that she was being carried in the arms of a dwarf, and they were running, the smoke and tears blurring her view of the sky and her savior's face; suddenly they were falling through the sky, air whistling in her ears, the shouts and cries of others echoing faintly, and then they were landing on something soft and big and she was being held against a broad chest as they pressed down against the feathers. Feathers?

The Eagles, Bilbo thought, the idea sparking only the faintest shred of excitement it would once have.

After an indeterminable amount of time she was being gently cradled as they slid from the back of one of the Great Eagles of Manwe. As soon as his feet hit the ground Bilbo found herself gently pushing against him until he reluctantly put her down on her own two feet. She stumbled, knees nearly touching the cold stones as they buckled, but Bilbo shoved herself forward until she was at the edge of the rock she was on. Here she stopped, gasping and heaving and sobbing - something she'd been doing the entire time. All that anger and hatred and fear had come to head, and she could no longer deal with it all.

"Lass?" a voice asked from behind her. "Lass, 're ye alrigh?"

Oh, why did it have to be Bofur? He was one of the only ones she truly liked (Nori and Balin being the other two - although Dwalin and Oin weren't too far behind), one of the only ones she could not bare to see her like this. She sobbed harder.

There was the sound of a commotion, and then Thorin was wrenching her around, face set in a deep scowl.

"What were you thinking," he snarled, unheeding of the sobs that tore from her throat still. "You could have been killed!"

When she still did not answer, even going so far as to hang her head, he softened, his grip loosening. She chanced a teary look up only to find his intense blue eyes searching for an answer. "That was no stupid stunt," he finally said, voice gruff but not cruel. He softened even more. "What have you lost to him?" His voice was the barest murmur, perhaps not even meant for her ears, but Bilbo was not a Hobbit for nothing.

The question prodded at the shriveled wreck of her soul deep inside, and another sharp sob rattled her bones, causing her to lean forward, forehead coming to rest against Thorin's collarbone. "My freedom," she whispered hoarsely. Immediately Thorin stiffened, and then his arms were wrapping around her, holding her close as she cried against him, fingers clenched in his coat.

It took an eternity, but eventually Bilbo's tears slowed to a halt, and she was left feeling emtpy and devoid of life. Her fingers unfurled from the folds of thick cloth, stiffly unfolding to lie flat against his chest then gently pushing him away. With a breathy sigh she stood, eyes trained on the ground. Without looking at the others she shuffled to the steps carved into the side of the Carrock - for that's where they were - and slowly made her way down. There was stunned moment of hesitation before the Company followed her.

They walked for hours, Bilbo in the lead, tramping across forest and field alike as they made their way to the safe house Gandalf promised. Bilbo estimated they were about half a league from their destination when a giant bear broke from the brush around them and charged. Immediately the others began a mad dash for safety; Bilbo simply turned to face the creature. Everything felt numb.

The bear continued to run at her, growing seemingly larger by the moment to the Hobbit as it got closer. Distressed calls sounded sharply as the dwarrow realized she was not with them, but she did not heed their cries, instead lifting her arms from sides and tilting her head back, eyes closed.

Bilbo inhaled, allowing the scents of the world around her to fill her and settle within the hollow cavity where her heart had once been. Sweet green, earthy brown, light breezes, warm sun, open sky, trees and grasses growing - and suddenly she could feel it, the life and the warmth and the light, and then she was the grass, and the insects, and the trickling brook, and the birds, the breeze in their feathers, the leaves soaking up the golden sun - everything, full to bursting with life, practically glowing with the lives of all that was near her. Bilbo was everything.

Bilbo opened her eyes, breathing deeply of the warm brown fur, snuggling against the neck now wrapped tamely in her arms. She could smell the forest on the creature, the peace, but underneath that was the bitter tang of old pains and the musk of men - even the acrid stech of Orc, ancient but not forgotten. Her hands curled in the brown fur of the great bear.

"We need a safe place," she whispered, knowing he would hear. "We-" She hesitated. "I can go no farther on this journey, not without the proper time to recuperate and grow my strength back."

A gentle rumbling spread from his chest soothing her aches, fears, and pains to some degree. He chuffed gently, and she nodded and pulled away to look into his eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured. He nudged her with his snout in the direction of her friends - all waiting with terrified expressions - and she even managed a weak smile before walking away. "He has allowed us all to stay in his home for as long as we need it," Bilbo informed them as she reached the rest of the Company. "It's this way," she added, walking past them all in the direction the bear had indicated. Once more in shock it took them a moment to follow.

At last they made it to the humble cottage where sentient animals took their coats and bags and lead them to a table laden with food. The dwarrow eagerly dug in, but Bilbo curled up in a corner with a friendly cat in her lap and watched without appetite.

"You are troubled," the cat, a grey tabby, said quietly as she pet it.

Bilbo sighed. "I have failed," she admitted just as quietly. "Failed my friends, and my people -"

"And yourself?" The tabby opened her wise, silver eyes.

After a moment taken to swallow back tears, Bilbo nodded. "Yes. And myself."

The tabby nodded, eyes slipping close once more. "Do not let yourself become blind," she finally intoned. "There is still much for you to do, and many who rely on you or wish you well. Don't turn them away simply because you can no longer see a way out of the darkness." Once more the silver eyes blinked lazily open. "I am called Shaeila."

The Hobbit tried for a smile, settled for a grimace. "Bilbo - Bilbo Baggins."

Shaeila purred and went to sleep.

Bilbo did not sleep all night, moving to sit in the garden after Shaeila had awoken and gone off to hunt. It wasn't until the sun pierced through the grey fog of morning that a tall, bear of a man walked from the trees dressed in trousers cut off halfway down his calfs, suspenders, and a thread-bare white shirt with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. She spared him a glance and shifted over on the bench for him to sit down.

There was long stretch of silence as they watched the sun break through the trees and warm the world once more. "Not many," he began, breath condensing in front of him, "would open their arms to a bear."

She twitched a shoulder. "Not many can speak to one, either."

He turned his head and studied her intensely. "You are far from home, Little Bunny. What would bring you all the way out here?"

Another twitch. "Home ceased being that to me many, many years ago."

"...That is not what I meant."

Grief rose unbidden, threatening to choke the Hobbit lass. "I know what you meant. There is no home for me," she admitted, "not until I can win back the freedom of my people."

Silence stretched once more. "Do your friends know?"

This time Bilbo laughed dryly, her voice straining to the edge of hysteria. "Know? Of course not! They are all bumbling fools who think that theirs' are the only problems in the world, and yet they would use me to solve them. Save their home from a dragon?" Her laugh was bitter. "I can assure you that there are worse things than dragons sleeping harmlessly many months from your comfortable home; at least they have a home."

He handed her a giant handkerchief, and for the first time she noticed that her face and neck were wet with tears. "Thank you," she mumbled as she dried herself.

"Think nothing of it, Little Bunny." When she tried to hand it back he closed one massive hand around her tiny fist and said gently, "No; it is yours to keep. Perhaps it will remind you that a home does not have to be a place, but a person - a friend."

She gazed up at him with periwinkle eyes. "You would do that? Be my friend?" He nodded, and she looked away and sniffed. "I have not had a friend in a very long time."

His hand moved from hers to her back. "I think, Bunny, that you will find you have more than you think."

They sat like that for another three-quarter hours until the dew had evaporated and the sun was was high enough to indicate it was time for breakfast.

"What should I call you," Bilbo asked as they stood.

The big man dipped his head in greeting. "I am Beorn, last of the Skinchangers and protector of the lands from the mountains to the Mirkwood and Rohan."

She dipped a curtsy (as well as she could in her father's trousers). "I'm Bilbo Baggins, burgler for the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, once-master of Bag End in the Green Country. At least," she added wistfully, "that's what it used to be."

Beorn nodded. "The Shire. I knew many who had once wandered those hills. Elves, my kin -" He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye, "even Halflings."

"Our Wandering Days," Bilbo said in awe, one hand on Beorn's leg as they walked to his cottage so that she did not trip or wander. "I remember when my mother and grandfather used to tell tales of our history, of the time before we settled in the Shire. We would gather around the big fireplace in Brandy Hall and listen to our bards and elders tell the most magnificent stories of dragons, and wizards, and elves..." She grew somber. "That was all before the Fell Winter, of course."

The Fell Winter. No name could inspire so many emotions as that. In the space of one season the lives of Bilbo and all the Hobbits had changed for the worse. Then they had been left to their own devices, unable to get help from anyone despite the many efforts that cost the lives of many more. Her mood soured at the tainted memories.

Beorn, sensing this, gently lead her into the house. "Come, Little Bunny. Let us partake in a full meal and forget all that troubles us if only for a moment."

She nodded and stepped through the door, hand still curled in the fabric of his pants while the other held the handkerchief that was almost as big as a small blanket on her. To her surprise all the dwarrow were awake and already eating at the table when she and their host stepped into the room. Immediately they froze and stared at the strange duo, gazes a mix between concern, wariness, and shock. Bilbo's hands clenched tighter in their respective materials; Beorn dropped a large hand to the back of her neck, fingers just long enough to settle between her shoulder blades despite the height difference.

"You must eat, little one," he urged kindly. Bilbo reluctantly nodded, and he lifted her up onto the the bench and moved some of the plates and bowls so that the bread, honey, and milk were within easy reach. After that he made up a plate for himself and stood silently in a corner.

The remainder of breakfast was a tense and awkward affair with everyone keeping their eyes riveted on their own plates, though Bofur kept shooting her concerned glances every now and then. Finally Bilbo had had enough.

"Just ask your questions already!" she exploded. "I can feel you thinking them, and I no longer have the patience to put up with this, so just do me a favor and ask."

A few of the dwarrow looked a bit startled at her outburst, but they quickly smoothed their expressions over just in time for Thorin to ask, "Why?"

His typical glare had been traded for one of stony contemplation. "Why what," she shot back with a bit more ire than she really meant.

He breathed in sharply through his nose. "Why did you attack Azog the Defiler - alone?"

Bilbo saw Beorn give a double-take in her direction, but she ignored him in favor of shoving back the bile. "Because he deserved it," she replied angrily.

The exiled king was beginning to look increasingly annoyed. "Yes, but why? What gives you the right to face him - the ability - in my place? He killed my father and grandfather -"

"And enslaved my people," she snarled. All the anger she had been fighting surged with a vengeance, and suddenly she found she didn't want to keep it a secret any longer. Bilbo's eyes narrowed to furious slits. "Azog came with his Orcs and his Wargs after the wild wolves had already decimated a third of our population. They came with their weapons, and their chains and irons, and they killed those who resisted, or these who were too weak. With a small army they overran my homeland, burning homes and what was left of our food stores, capturing the women and children, the strong and the young men, and then they left us rot in cages. Of those that survived they sent us back to our homes with a promise to return every month to collect supplies and trophies of their wish. They threatened that if we told the travelers who sometimes came through, or tried to send word to the Blue Mountains or the Rangers, they would kill every last one of us. We were to pretend that nothing was wrong, rebuild our lives. But then Azog came back to choose personal slaves.

"He came first for one of my aunts, and that was when my mother began to teach me to fight. Every time the Orcs came she would resist in small ways, trying to give our people hope, but Bolg, he - He killed her, right in front of me." She choked on a sob, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "I kept practicing, even getting one or two of my Took and Brandybuck cousins to join me in secret. I tried to be a beacon of hope, to help my people as my mother had done, but there was so much fear, and we had lost so much already. When I realized that open rebellion would bring only more pain, I began to read and study the other races, absorbing their lore and their fighting techniques, their languages and their history. I decided that the first chance I got I would escape and try to find the help that we so desperately needed." For a moment all she could see were the days and sleepless night she had spent planning, learning, and plotting. "It was not to be," Bilbo scowled, the day still fresh in her mind despite the decades that had past.

"Once Azog grew tired of my aunt he came again to choose another. He must have learned from his monster of a son about my mother, and so I became the first he examined. It was humiliating," Bilbo said, "and yet I could do nothing to stop it. I was still weak from the rations we had lived on over the winter and then the nothing we'd received while locked up waiting to die. Despite my training, it had only been a few meager months, and it was not enough. But when he brought my cousin Primula..." She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. "She is younger than me, was still so far from her majority, and I could not let him choose her; no one else would suffer any more as long as I could do something about it. So I attacked Azog. He laughed and praised my spirit, promised that he would break it as easily as he could break my bones, and he took me."

The Hobbit lass hung her head. She was weary, oh, so weary, and all she wanted to do was sleep for a lifetime. "I was his for 10 years. I was chained oftentimes in a black, dank cave where only darkness and coldness lived, but occasionally, if I behaved, he would let me out into the sun for a whole day. As long as I had a guard with me at all times I was aloud to bathe and bask in the warm light that more often than not burned me with frightening intensity. After the first two years he realized that I harbored no plans to escape, and then I was given more freedom.

"I trained with my guards to build my strength back up, and he allowed it, thinking my actions amusing. I was able to choose for once what I ate, and slowly I became healthy once more. But I had not given up. I studied Azog and his men, noted their habits and their mannerisms, and slowly I began to hope again.

"I was returned to my house in better shape than I had left it. I returned once more to my books, and I secretly spread hope to the hearts of my people. In my absence, the last of my relatives in line for the title of Thain had passed. Upon my return I began to rebuild our ruling body, our enforcers, and our culture. It took some time, but the people longed for what little freedom and happiness they could receive. As Thain I rebuilt my people, so that when a Ranger finally passed through they could not see anything wrong. Babies were being born again, markets were being visited, parties were being thrown. It took almost six years, but finally we were in a place that promised some semblance of comfort.

"Around this time I began to stage the deaths of some of my more adventurous surviving relatives. After a long period of time there were enough that I had personally instructed and taught in what I knew of our old ways and the ways of other races to send messages to those that could help. The first six I sent to the Blue Mountains, the Grey Haven, and the Rangers, two each; only one from the Grey Havens returned.

"Orcs had ambushed them, and the others I assumed, before reaching their destinations. Furious with such a show of resistance, Azog ordered Bolg back to the Shire to punish those responsible. The others tried to hide my involvement, but I would have none of it, and Bolg took me back to be punished. I there for another 18 months, starved and beaten, never allowed out of my cave or my chains, before being dragged back to Bag End. Another of my cousins, Paladin Took, had taken up the mantle of Thain in my absence, offered to return it to me, but I refused on the grounds that our people needed someone who could do more than just cause more pain. We tried secret delegation eight more times, and lost 23 Hobbits we couldn't really afford to. By that point I realized how futile it all was, and settled for waiting for an answer to a question I had yet to ask.

"Seven years later a wizard and 13 dwarrow knocked at my door, and now here I am."

A quick glance through her eye lashes revealed the shocked and horrified expressions of every single person in the room; she bravely raised her eyes to meet Thorin's. "You may have lost your home long ago to a dragon, Thorin Oakenshield, but you built a new life for your people in the Blue Mountains. If I cannot defeat Smaug, then I won't be able to free my own people from the brutal oppression we have endured for the past 28 years."

There was a brief span of quiet before Fili asked, "Why must you first defeat Smaug? You could have asked the Elves in Rivendell to send aid, or even my uncle or Gandalf."

Her eyes hardened again. "Azog, as yet another way to taunt and humiliate us, said that if we could somehow pay him enough then he would free us and never come back." Bilbo turned her penetrating gaze to the young prince. "I must fulfill my contract in order to collect my share of the treasure, and then I will use all of it to force Azog from the Shire. This is the only hope for my people left."

Gandalf stepped forward. "My dear Bilbo, if I had only known -"

"But you didn't," she said coldly, "and I am not your 'dear' anything. If I have learned anything over the last few decades of my life it is that I cannot expect others to fight my battles for me. When we needed the Elves, or the strength of a dwarven army, or even you, a wizard who should have sensed the darkness tainting the land from the moment it stepped foot inside the borders, there was no one. We were alone, and weak, and helpless, and I vowed to never be that ever again. But then Azog learned of my dissappearance, learned of your presance in the Shire, and he has come to take his wayward pet back to punish me for my insuboordination."

Exhaustion settled over her, guilt and shame weighing heavily on her slim shoulders, and she leaned her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Breakfast sat curdled and sour in her stomach. "I'm getting too old for this," she admitted softly, blinking her eyes wearily open at Gandalf. "I'm a middle aged Hobbit, not some adventerous fauntling. I should be in my garden with a good book or a shovel in my hands, with a husband and children and parents, not a runaway slave on a mission to solve the problem of a nation much more well off than my own." A tremor ran down her spine, and Bilbo layed her head down on her arms folded on top of the table, suddenly feeling very small and cold.

It was quiet for so long that she almost fell asleep, but then young Ori spoke up timidly, "You were 22, Mistress Baggins?"

Gandalf answered for her, "Aye. That was the year of the Fell Winter. I had visited not six months before, and when I heard that the Brandywine had frozen over I wished for nothing more than to aide the Halflings, but the mountain passes were lethal to travel, and I was in the Iron Hills."

Bilbo lifted her head to smile weakly at the Istari. "There is nothing you could have done, Gandalf. By the time you would have made it, half of us had already died from the cold, hunger, and wild wolves before the Orcs ever got to us."

"But Bilbo, to take on the mantle of Thain so early -"

"Is it really so young, Gandalf? I was in better shape by that point than I would be for another decade."

"One year short of your Majority -"

Bilbo saw the horror intensify on the faces of the dwarrow, and knew she had to end this quickly. "It's done, Gandalf," she bit out sharply. "It's been done for a very long time. I've had 18 years to get over it, and I suggest you do the same." She slid off the bench with a light thump before striding away.Â

The Hobbit lass did not expect to be followed. She was upset, both at the turn the conversation had taken and that Gandalf had revealed the one thing she had actively not wanted the others to know. Yes, it was awful that she had spent most of her life in slavery, but to reveal that she hadn't even been of age... Such a crime was unpardonable in any well-governed society, and she did not want the pity that such a life brought on her head. Back in the Shire pity was non-existant, but she had still known to be wary in the outside world. Bilbo did not want the Company's pity, their condolances, their comfort, or even their help. She was a grown Hobbit, one who had resigned herself to her fate long ago, and she would not let anyone stand in the way of her saving her the last of her people.

But... could she? Bilbo halted suddenly in the middle of the hall, almost skidding to a halt. Baring her tale did not mean baring her soul, and yet she found all of her doubts and insecurities rising to the surface once again. Her confrontation with Azog only two nights past had not helped to allay any of those fears, instead serving to multiply them ten-fold. As Azog had pointed out, Bilbo already felt as if hers was a futile effort. She had held on to hope for so long that she forgot what she was hoping for. Freedom was something she spoke and thought of often, but it was no longer a dream. She had to stand strong for her people because they looked up to her, but she would just as soon let someone else take the mantle from her - stars knew that she was too weak to carry it anyway.

Slowly Bilbo backed up against the wall and slid down to the floor, legs no longer able to support her.

She had wanted to die back on the precipice, wanted it all to end, wanted to keep her part from going on any longer. 28 years she had stood her ground, held on to her anger and hate to fuel her as the hope dimmed and slipped away, but on that cliff she had faced her fears and found them too great to conquer.

Bilbo Baggins could not kill a dragon, and she could not save her people.

"What am I doing?" she whispered into the air, wishing someone could give her the answers. Her breath hitched. "Why am I even alive?"

Warm light spilled through a window onto her face, but still she felt chilled. There was nothing physically wrong with her, yet her heart beat was slowing down minute by minute. The world was filled with so much light, but to her it was hopelessly dark. 15 people waited in the other room, a few hundred back in the Shire, and yet Bilbo was alone.

Muscle by muscle her body went limp.

"Bilbo?"

Periwinkle eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she thought she could see the rolling green hills of her happiest dreams, but then everything swam into focus as a calloused hand took hers. "Bofur," she breathed, head lolling to get a better view of his worried face. She smiled sadly, a small, tired thing that nevertheless felt truer and happier than it had in 28 years. "You're here."

He smiled with tears in his eyes, moving to clasp her hand with both of his. "Yeah," he huffed breathlesly, "I am."

Someone settled beside him, and a great deal of focus revealed it to be Nori - and Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, and Kili. Something sparked in her chest, but it was snuffed out with the shiver that shook her slender frame. "It's cold," she whimpered.

Bofur seemed to grow even more sad and his smile more forced. "I know," he managed and patted her hand. "I know." He hesitated. "D'ya wanna get warm?"

"...I'm tired."

This time there was no doubt that the miner was crying as he let out a sob. "I know, an' 'm so sorry, lass."

She was confused, her thoughts thin and muddled. "Why? You did nothing wrong. I shoud have been better -"

"No," he protested shaking his head. "Ya did th' best ya could, lass, an' tha's all anyone c'n ask."

"...You wanted me to kill a dragon."

There was no hesitation. "An' I'm so, so sorry. We shoulda known better 'n ta ask tha' of ya." Tears rolled down his cheeks.

She looked at them all again. "Why are here?" Her voice sounded weaker even to her own ears.

Bofur opened his mouth to answer but was overcome by anotherracking sob; his grip tightened. Nori placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke for him. "We wanted th' chance t' say goodbye." Was Dwalin...sniffeling? A closer look revealed tears on the faces of all those present.

"You're leaving?"

"No, lass," Balin answered kindly, his smile and eyes world-weary and wet.

Kili stepped forward. "You are."

She frowned, faintly aware that everything was greying at the edges. "I am?"

Bofur, once more capable of speech, dipped his head slightly, eyes never leaving her. "Aye."

Bifur grunted something, and his cousin translated in a whisper, "We'll miss ya, Bilbo."

Something in her relaxed. "You'll...miss me?" It took a little straining, but she though about it. "I don't think anyone's missed me in 28 years." There was silence as she nodded. "I think...I'll miss you." With a sudden clarity she realized it was true: she would miss these dwarrow, Nori with his sarcastic remarks and sticky fingers, Balin with his wisdom and gentle nature, Dwalin with his gruff approval and fierce loyalty, Bifur with his kind heart and gravelly voice, young Kili with his boundless enthusiasm and bright joy, and Bofur with his warm laughter and quiet love. If she left, she would miss them.

Her chest did not feel so hollow anymore.

Bilbo shivered, her thought becoming a little clearer. "I...I don' wanna be cold anymore," she slurred. Her fingers and toes were numb.

The dwarrow all shared an indecipherable look, and then Bofur was pulling her against him and wrapping his arms around her, chin settling on her head while her head rested directly over his heartbeat. "I'll keep ya warm, love," he murmured. "Stay an' I'll keep ya warm." He laughed a little. "I'll even help ya kill tha' dragon."

Her insides began to thaw, and she smiled peacefully. Right before she drifted off to sleep she whispered, "I'd like that."


End file.
